Not a Relationship
by Cuzosu
Summary: Yoruichi and Shunsui don't have a relationship, and they like it that way. For Fei, because she didn't think this couple could be written well. Was supposed to be a drabble, but...isn't.


Title: Not a Relationship

Author: Cuzosu

Rating: M to be on the safe side. Mention of nudity, swearing, and the simple fact that this _is_ about Shunsui and Yoruichi.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, and I wrote this spur-of-the-moment for a friend - Fei, you know who you are! - so it's not like I'd get paid for this even if I wasn't just doing it for fun.

A/N: My friend mentioned to me that she didn't think Shunsui and Yoruichi were a good couple. I'm apparently competitive in strange ways and decided to prove her wrong. :p It was originally supposed to be a drabble, but either they're too complicated or I am.

Hope you enjoy!

**Not a Relationship**

Kyoraku Shunsui was a lady's man. He was a flirt, and fickle, the kind of man who loved and left, chasing dreams and moonbeams over the hills and far away. Of course, sometimes he'd come back again, if the woman was lucky or interesting enough. And he loved his sake about as much as he loved his women.

He didn't remember how he'd at first arrived in bed with the lush figure of feminine grace next to him, but given her identity, he knew what had happened and that he had nothing to worry about. For that matter, neither did she.

Shihoin Yoruichi was feline in all the best of ways, lithe and supple, with such abundant vim and vigor and zest for life that the only reason to dislike her at all was her excessive exuberance. She came and went like a thief, like a cat, and had no master. Sake was an old and well-loved friend, whose company she often sought, though this occasionally meant she woke up sprawled in bed with - most typically - one Kyoraku Shunsui or one Urahara Kisuke. But she never objected, just grinned and did as she pleased, and anyone who objected quickly realized it wasn't wise to draw a bored cat's attention to a new scratching post, not when they _were_ that scratching post.

Shunsui rolled over and soaked in the sight of the dark-skinned, golden-eyed woman draped bonelessly on his bed. For the moment she was sated, lazy, nearly purring with contentment, but he knew that soon enough she'd rise and leave, abandoning him just as surely as he would abandon her.

This wasn't a bad thing; Kyoraku Shunsui knew he was as fickle as a cat, as changing as the wind. His heart never loved any woman for long, though in rare cases it might return. Such a case was Shihoin Yoruichi.

Said woman stretched and yawned, rising to her feet with innate grace and dressing with unhurried movements. It was time for breakfast, and she wanted Tessai's cooking. Kisuke always made sure there was enough for her if she decided to drop by, and so the golden-eyed shinigami found she often made her way to the shoten for meals.

As she cast a last, lewd grin back at him and shunpo'd elsewhere, Shunsui smiled. So he didn't have a girlfriend, or a wife, or children. That life was not for him; he didn't need anything precious of his own to protect, not when there were so many others that needed protection. Sure, Yoruichi might just be scratching an itch, but he was okay with that, and maybe, just maybe she liked the unspoken arrangement they had. Because it never mattered who showed up where, not so long as they were drinking close to somewhere they could be alone.

Kyoraku Shunsui didn't know if it was lust or if it was love, and as long as she wasn't pressing him for answers, he was content to wait and see. It never crossed his mind that Shihoin Yoruichi could really, truly be thinking the same thing. She was the wind; she was supposed to be free, so why would she be okay with being tied down? The same of course was true of him, as well, and Shunsui wondered how this wonderful, curious woman had managed to not have a single serious relationship at all. Well, this being Yoruichi, there were several possibilities. Anyway...

It probably wouldn't have worked for anyone else, but such was the strength of their separate convictions, such was the unity of their dreams of freedom that this odd, here-again-there-again non-relationship never once affected their friendship.

For both participants, it was fleeting. Fleeting comfort, fleeting help, fleeting times with someone who would catch them if they fell, for no other reason than because they were friends, and they were there.

Whatever their non-relationship was, it was. And that was enough for the fleet of foot and the fleet of heart.


End file.
